


(Don't) Throw Me in the Briar

by Anonymous



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character is Passed Around Like a Party Favor for Noncon Gangrape, F/F, Multi, Public Use, Restrained for public use in pillories or stocks, pillories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Silviana's disciplinary methods don't work, Elaida resorts to unconventional measures.
Relationships: Egwene al'Vere/Other(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Anonymous, Bulletproof 20/21





	(Don't) Throw Me in the Briar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecat/gifts).



> Some context since this is for a canon-blind exchange: all depicted characters are at least eighteen.
> 
> The Aes Sedai are an organized group of women magic-users. They have tiers of apprentices called "Novices" and "Accepted." Novices are traditionally addressed as "child" by full Aes Sedai, while the leader of the Aes Sedai has the title "Amyrlin Seat" and is addressed as "mother." At this point in canon, there is a schism; both Egwene and Elaida claim to be the real Amyrlin. Egwene has been taken captive by Elaida's loyalists and treated as a novice, which she tries her best to ignore. (Additionally, Aes Sedai have lifespans beyond normal humans, so many of them may be in their second or third century.) So when infantilization and/or familial terms are used here, it's for purposes of honorifics or insults, not because the characters have an ageplay and/or incest kinks. (Unless you want them to, obviously.)

After dinner at the novices’ table, Egwene promptly reported to Silviana’s office. The Tower’s Mistress of Novices looked in an ill mood, as if she’d been forced to drink forkroot. “Have there been more—disturbances in the Tower?” Egwene asked.

Figments of ghosts appearing or vanishing on the wind, cell bars melting to hot wax, entire quarters swapping positions. The White Tower was no more sacred a place than anywhere else in the world, with the Dark One loose and Tarmon Gai’don near. What irritated Egwene most of all was not that her home was being violated by these spectres, but that Elaida could offer no words of hope or comfort to her helpless followers.

“No,” said Silviana. “There has, however, been a change in your instruction. From now on, you will no longer attend me.”

Instruction. Well, that was certainly one word for it. Perhaps even Elaida had seen the folly of subjecting Egwene to further strappings. “I understand,” said Egwene.

“The first hour after sunrise will be reserved for disciplinary purposes. If your minders or other sisters find you disobedient, you will report to the courtyard in the students’ annex.”

The courtyard? Maybe they wanted her to weed the gardens. It would be no worse than working in the kitchens, Egwene supposed. “I understand,” she repeated.

“Child,” said Silviana, almost concerned, “I urge you, for your own sake rather than that of my schedule. Do not be needlessly antagonistic. These punishments have had little effect on you, but there are many relics of the past that can be restored if the need is urgent.”

“The need?” said Egwene. “Is it needful for the Ajahs to cower in fear, refusing to meet outside their own quarters? Is it _tradition_ for the Amyrlin to order the building of her own private palace? When the Forsaken are loose, ought we not antagonize those who push for strive and division over unity and collaboration?”

Silviana pursed her lips, and Egwene wondered what kind of punishment she’d earned with that. Instead, the Mistress of Novices merely dismissed her. Light, when even Silviana was too exhausted to do what she thought was her duty, what had the world come to?

Katerine was in the courtyard the next morning, as well as a man with a broken nose and a white beard. Egwene thought she ought to recognize him, but could not place him. “Well?” snapped Katerine. “What do _you_ want?”

“Silviana told me I ought to report here in the morning.”

“That’s Silviana Sedai to you, child. And you don’t have any business here today, unless you’ve managed to be disobedient overnight.”

Egwene tried not to smile. Her nights were in many ways freer then her days; she could confer with Siuan and the Hall in _Tel’aran’rhiod._ Not for too long—she needed to rest—but her dreams of Gawyn and Aviendha and Rand and all the others were welcome, even if they brought no prophecy. She hardly thought communicating with the rebel Sitters would qualify as obedience.

But during the lessons with full Aes Sedai, Serancha Colvine and Adelorna Bastine made it clear that Egwene would waste no time finding out what new punishment Elaida had devised. Adelorna’s sharp words hurt even more than Serancha’s fussiness; Egwene would have chosen the Green if she had had the chance, and Adelorna clearly stood high in the hierarchy of the Tower-aligned Greens. It was a reminder that feuds between Aes Sedai sisters could be as bloody as those among blood kin.

When she put on the novice white the next morning, Egwene reminded herself that she was still alive. Elaida knew better than to make her a martyr, and as long as she lived, she would fight from within the Tower. As for the rest, the Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed.

Her Red handlers hastily departed the courtyard after ensuring Egwene had drunk forkroot. Katerine was there again, along with an odd stone platform. There were two poles on opposite sides of a small square, joined by a wooden bar with two holes in it. The poles had grooves so that one could slide the bar up and down.

“Ah,” said Katerine. “Take off your clothes.”

Egwene blinked. “Is this a trial?” Siuan’s knowledge of the Thirteenth Depository contained references to formal Courts and Seats, but she wasn’t aware of any legal matter that would require her to be clad in the light.

“You are an initiate, not a Sister,” said Katerine.

Well, that helped matters none. Egwene hesitantly took off her shoes and her dress.

“Leave the shift,” said Katerine, “and place your arms in the hole.” She had to adjust the bar downward for Egwene to reach. Whoever had last stood there had been taller, though there was no telling how many centuries ago that might have been.

Katerine fiddled with the bar again. Not channelling, just adjusting the holes so they were tight around Egwene’s wrists like shackles. She remembered the _a’dam_ and shivered in terror, or the chill of the morning. But the device did not seem to be a _ter’angreal_. Whatever trickles of the Power she could muster through the forkroot would be hers alone.

“One hour, child,” said Katerine. “Let this...deter you from any future trouble.”

One hour? What was she supposed to _do_? If Leane was any indication, the Tower preferred to keep its prisoners in the cells, to remind them that they _were_ prisoners.

She got an answer a few minutes later when the Accepted began to emerge, hurrying to give lessons or study the Power. “So this is the Novice who thinks she’s the Amyrlin,” said Idrelle, one of the Accepted who Egwene had shown up in her “lessons.”

Then there was a hiss of air, and a strap seared into her backside. So Silviana’s duty had merely been passed down to whoever appeared in the gardens. Idrelle swung again. Then there was a pause—urging another Accepted forward, perhaps?—and a birch hit her instead. Idrelle and her companion continued on to breakfast, only the sound of their footsteps serving as farewell.

Well, let them see. It was no secret that she ate standing up. The Aiel would have found a way to welcome the pain, and even if she could not enjoy it, she would not let it break her.

Then the real novices arrived. Either they did not realize what the pillory was for or were disgusted by the concept, because they gave it a wide berth, containing their pity. Only Nicola approached, her curiosity outweighing horror. “Do you—are you well, Mother?”

“You know you cannot attempt the Healing weave,” Egwene chided her. The girl would be foolish enough to use Egwene’s captivity as an excuse for bending the rules further.

“But they have dispensation to do this to you?”

“Go to class,” said Egwene. She was the Amyrlin. It was not Nicola’s job to fight for her.

A few more Accepted passed by and took up the birch, but where Silviana had seen doling out punishment as a duty, they saw it only as a novelty. Oddly enough, their blows seemed to hurt less. They were halfhearted measures; Egwene’s body had caught their attention because it was an unexpected sight in the courtyards, like a stray cat.

And then Katerine was releasing her. “Put your clothes on and see if Laras has anything warm left for you. Let’s not be seeing any more of you.”

Egwene did not answer. The truth was, she did not want to repeat the experience either, but there were many duties that came before her desires. Breakfast was porridge that didn’t need to be warm, nor for her to be able to sit on a bench.

Once _toh_ had been met, she reminded herself, the Aiel did not speak of it. Egwene doubted Elaida and her cronies had such a sense of honor, but for the rest of the day the Tower seemed content to take her new condition in stride. A Brown sister summoned her for lessons, some novices sought her out for advice on the ghosts or their pillow-friends, and Leane’s guards tried their best to ignore her. She drank forkroot when it was given to her, and didn’t curtsy or add the honorific _Sedai_. Was it just her imagination, or did the Tower sisters look even more anxious than usual when ordering her to the courtyard?

When she dreamed, it was of Silviana. Silviana kneeling before a woman with an absurd accent, like the worst of the Domani and Illianers mixed together. “You ought to have listened,” she said. “But you did no, did you? And now, you will serve.”

“Forgive me,” Silviana said, weeping. “Forgive me, my Lady.”

And at once Egwene realized that this was neither _Tel’aran’rhiod_ nor a prophecy. She had found her way into Silviana’s dreams. The Red had never met a Seanchan, and all she knew about them was that they had strange voices—this was what her sleeping mind had conjured up. Was she begging forgiveness from the Empress? Or from Egwene herself, for not heeding the warning?

She hurried to make her way into real sleep. As unconsciousness claimed her, she wondered why Silviana. They were close in proximity, but she had never imagined the Mistress of Novices like she had imagined Gawyn, or even Galad or Aviendha. Was it only that, when Silviana had paddled her, it had _meant_ something?

Marris Thornhill was her attendant the next morning. The routine was the same, until Marris offered her a blindfold. “If you want this, tie it on while your hands are still free.”

“A blindfold?” Egwene asked. What was the use of that? It was not like she could see who was paddling her. Unless...Light, no. “Thank you, but I think not.” She was still the rightful leader of these women. She had to be able to face them. Whatever they brought.

The Accepted must have spread word that the rebel Amyrlin was being held in fetters, because sisters who would have no normal reason to visit the students’ courtyard passed through. Felaana, who sometimes stood guard over Leane, administered a few brisk switches to Egwene’s cold cheeks. And then paced around, inspecting her like a sheep on the village green.

“Call yourself what you will,” she rasped, “you are a child, and have had no time to go chasing farmboys nor soldiers. I have not the time to ready you. Perhaps I shall visit again when you are prepared, hmm?” She nudged Egwene’s chin, as if urging her to nod in response.

It was Beonin who entered her. Beonin who stroked her folds in the chill of sunrise until they were more than warm. “You already betrayed us,” Egwene said stiffly. If she could turn base metal into _cuendillar_ , her voice could be hard as heartstone, too. “There is nothing more you can do to me.”

“Proud words will do you no good,” said Beonin. “But perhaps if you ask nicely, I can make it pleasant.”

There was nothing pleasant about Beonin’s hands on her thighs, Beonin’s finger piercing her, Beonin pleasuring herself on Egwene’s wetness. It was all Egwene could do to clasp the useless blindfold between her hands, making fists to keep from screaming. If she could only channel enough to create a dome of silence!

“There, now,” said Beonin, her voice almost grandmotherly. “If you have no mind to repeat this tomorrow, you can show Elaida some respect. The nature of _saidar_ is surrender.”

Egwene did not bother to argue with her. To surrender to _saidar_ was like being taken _gai’shain._ When honor commanded, you exchanged one outfit and one duty for another. To surrender before Elaida would be like being taken by the Bleakness, throwing down her spear and wandering with no purpose.

The Wise Ones had punished her for pretending to be a full Aes Sedai when she was not, Egwene supposed, and the Tower would try to debase her for calling herself the Amyrlin Seat when she was. Heart of an Aiel. She would endure.

When Marris came to release her, the white-bearded man followed. Light, would they make a man take her, too? But he seemed surprised to see her there. “This do no be right,” he said, his Illianer accent thick. “Do this be any way to treat a student?”

“The business of the Tower is no concern of yours, Mattin,” said Marris. “This novice has learned her lesson, we hope.”

Mattin. Mattin Stepaneos! “Your Highness,” said Egwene, trying to meet his face. “I hope the circumstances of your captivity are tolerable.”

“My captivity?” he said. “The Amyrlin Seat did rescue me. To save me from al’Thor.”

“To save you? Why would Elaida need to protect me?” Marris stiffened—that was another note on her record, no doubt.

“Fortune prick me, lass, he do destroy wherever he takes power! Morgase in Caemlyn, Colavaere, the Tairen lords.”

“Morgase was killed by Rahvin, the Forsaken,” said Egwene plainly, and summarized what she knew about the rest of the upheaval.

“And you?” he said. “What be this—business?”

“Enough,” said Marris. “There are plenty of quarters in the main building—you do not need to concern yourself with the discipline of novices.”

“Novices,” repeated Mattin, with a scowl.

And then all the classes and chores and counsel to novices, as if Beonin hadn’t just taken her maidenhead out in the courtyard for all to see. As if the King of Illian hadn’t seen her in only a shift.

When she met with Siuan in _Tel’aran’rhiod,_ Egwene concentrated on the Amyrlin’s stole. She could not let herself imagine novice white here, too, nor the drab uniforms of the _damane._ Seven stripes, not six. The Reds were her sisters, even now.

As much as Egwene tried to reflect Aes Sedai tranquility, Siuan must have caught some unease in her face. “If you think you are in danger, you must let us Travel in. You are no more use dead than Romanda or Lelaine would be as Amyrlin.”

“Elaida does not want me dead,” said Egwene, once again thinking things would have been much simpler if she had already sworn on the Oath Rod. “I have too much potential to kill. Leane is the one you should worry about, but even they admit who she is. There would be a trial before anything else.”

“All the same,” said Siuan.

If only Aviendha were there, to chide her if she had grown overly proud. Was her resistance eroding Elaida’s tyranny, or merely spite that led nowhere? No, she could not imagine it was all for nothing. Not yet. “Tell me about the armies.”

“Well, the harbor is not as secure as we’d hoped, but Gareth—General Bryne—believes a siege is still...”

Gareth, was it? If Siuan Sanche of all people had found unfeigned affection, the end of an Age was truly near. Egwene was not so naive as to imagine some lover would want her after this. But there would be an after. That was enough.

It became almost routine, as predictable as the sessions with Silviana had been. One hour, no more, no less. Sometimes it was an Accepted who was homesick for a young man she’d left behind, or frustrated that she was stuck inside the Tower while the nations raged and collapsed. Sometimes it was slim Alviarin, who was gleeful when she swung the switch, as if relieved that she was not the only one Elaida had tried to demote. Sometimes it was wide-eyed Danelle, who seemed to be lost in a dream, except when she poked and prodded with knife-sharp quills. Once it was plump, absentminded Verin, who kneaded her shoulders and never touched her legs. Egwene did not mind the touch, exactly, but it was not as if she could have said aye or nay.

 _I can_ , she reminded herself. _If it gets worse, I can escape._ She was not in the _a’dam_ , and her nights were free. As long as she was able to have “lessons” with the other Aes Sedai, not learning the hundred weaves of the _ter’angreal_ test but challenging them over the history of past Amyrlins and the justice of Shemerin’s demotion, it was worth it.

Only, there were fewer and fewer of the lessons. At first Egwene thought it was merely coincidence, or that the sisters were dealing with the rebellion or matters of the world, even the so-called Black Tower. And then she realized that none of the women who had used her would send for her after that.

She had nothing to be ashamed of, she told herself. Bennae and Suana and the others who still gave her lessons surely knew what she was, what their sisters had done, and met her eyes anywhere. It was the others who were weak, who could not face their own choices. Yet if no one spoke to her beyond “open for me” or “you can take that,” what progress would she make?

And then one morning, Elaida was there, shooing away a few Accepted and even a concerned Mattin Stepaneos. Elaida, flanked by five others. All Sitters, from different Ajahs. Did Elaida still see herself as Red? And were they here because they each truly desired to ravish Egwene, or just as a display of Elaida’s power?

“Well, daughters?” said Elaida. “This isn’t the Hall, you know. You don’t need to defer by rank or age.”

It was Doesine who stepped forward first. A Yellow. A healer. Semirhage had been a healer before she bound herself to the Shadow, Egwene remembered. Why was _that_ the history lesson that stuck with in her?

Yes, Doesine was channelling at her. Tiny strokes of Air and Water caressing Egwene’s hole, opening her up ever so slightly. Some part of her tried to memorize the weaves, to watch it as if it was happening to someone else, although she could not imagine the day when she would want to do the same. Not even Moghedien would deserve that. Not even Renna.

“Good girl,” said Doesine. “You like this, hmm? You like being full? We can help you finish, when you’ve learned your place.”

Her place was in the White Tower, in Elaida’s stole. Except when the schism was healed, she would weave Fire at this accursed device and leave no sign it had ever stood. Until then, her place was in the courtyard.

Doesine withdrew, making way for Shevan. Perhaps the Brown thought her a mere object of study. How much humiliation could a woman’s flesh take before her spirit collapsed?

 _They kept Rand in a box._ She had no signs on her arms nor _sa’angreal_ to sunder the world or forge it anew, but her Two Rivers stubbornness ran as deep as his. She could be strong.

Shevan seemed to think it amusing to prod and poke at Egwene’s rear hole, but quickly tired of that and settled for licking Egwene instead. She could not help but shudder. Had the Sitters placed bets among themselves to see who could scandalize Elaida first? Maybe that would get the whole charade over with.

Yukiri came next, a small Gray. She rubbed Egwene’s belly until her arousal pooled below her. “Fresh as the tap in the cellar,” Yukiri crowed, and even Elaida seemed amused.

It had to be only a coincidence. Surely the Sitters had better things to do than learn the early lives of all the novices, even the novice who was not. Still, it stung more than the uncreative terms the Accepted hurled at her.

Ferane, the White Sitter, had coppery Domani skin like Leane’s, but stood much shorter. “Egwene al’Vere,” she said. “The Dreamer. Tell me, did your visions warn you of this day?”

“Surely not,” said Doesine. “She would have prepared better.”

“I have dreamed of what the Seanchan will do to the Tower,” said Egwene. “I fear that more than any of your punishments.” At least she was the only one being tormented. Or was she? Danelle and the others had come on their own, but it seemed as if Elaida had arranged for the Sitters to be there. Or at least, to all be there at once.

Ferane was rough, daring Egwene to remember her in her dreams. In fact, her nightmares and headaches had been much fewer since she’d been taken prisoner. No matter what Elaida and her lackeys devised, she could work full days and rest full nights.

Dark-haired Rubinde, the Green, marvelled at the pillory itself. “I heard Cadsuane Sedai used this to keep the men she’d gentled alive.” Egwene did not even want to think about how that would have worked. “Pity we don’t have strength like hers anymore.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Ferane jeered. “She’s alive and well and ordering al’Thor about.”

“Ah, yes,” said Yukiri. “Him and those Asha’man.”

“And the Aiel savages,” said Shevan.

Egwene winced, as much for the insult as for the way Rubinde rode her. She had believed foolish things too when she knew little of the world, she told herself. Even at their age, the sisters could learn. They had to.

At last Rubinde pulled away, and then Elaida was facing her. “A fine display,” she said. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Egwene said nothing. She suspected that Elaida did not actually want to touch her. Not only did she not have golden hair or a full chest like Meidani, Elaida probably thought it beneath her to be aroused by a mere novice. It was enough that she could bully the others into debasing Egwene.

“You like being used. The rebels set you up as a puppet, and you liked that they treated you as a grown woman. You like this, too, because it’s the closest you’ll come to maturity for many years.”

“I hope Rand al’Thor triumphs in Tarmon Gai’don and the Wheel has many more years to turn,” said Egwene evenly. “How are you preparing the White Tower for that day?” The Sitters looked troubled. Good. “If you had brought him here in a box, would you cuff his arms in this, too?”

“Enough!” Elaida raged. “Will you admit what you are, or shall I make you beg?”

“I cannot say that I enjoy this,” said Egwene. “Not while I hold to the Three Oaths.”

“You have sworn no oaths, whatever delusions of grandeur the rebels have told you.”

“I keep them in my heart, as strong as any binding. Though if you would prefer I was properly raised—”

“Ungrateful brat!” Elaida raged. She could not use the Power as a weapon, but she could come close, lashing out with waves of Air until Egwene’s ragged, used shift billowed in the wind. If she had to do this, at least it was in front of the Sitters. Maybe Egwene had carved enough cracks that even they would see.

“Stop!” someone called. “Mother, please. This is no way to treat an initiate—” Silviana? And was Stepaneos with her, too?

“This is no initiate,” Elaida said. “This is the rebels’ pawn, their harlot, their loose child—”

Egwene dizzily wondered how long it had been since she’d drunk forkroot. She thought if she could seize _saidar_ , she might set the whole courtyard afire. Her vision blurred, and for a moment only the arm-bar held her upright—

She slept, and did not dream.

When she awoke, it was in a cell like Leane’s. There was a clean change of clothes next to her: a simple worker’s uniform, like Laras wore in the kitchens. So the novice charade was done with, at least, and she needed no prophecy to tell her they had given up on the pillory, too. She had won the battle. A bloody, brutal victory, but the day was hers.


End file.
